Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

Death belongs to life as birth does. The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.

Do not say, 'It is morning,' and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.

My sun sets to rise again.

I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots to make earth.

I wept, 'Tho' I should die, I know That all about the thorn will blow In tufts of rosy-tinted snow; 'And men, thro' novel spheres of thought Still moving after…